


Foreign ways

by taralynden



Series: Foreign ways [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taralynden/pseuds/taralynden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set well before the war on a Cybertron where each city has its own well-defined culture and mecha usually stay close to their city of activation, Prowl reluctantly visits Iacon and comes across a mech who will change the course of his life forever</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foreign ways

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for Day 3 of the prowlxjazz LJ community birthday celebration September 2010 in response to the prompt: "Less than lovers, more than friends".
> 
> Warnings: talk of suicide; tissues might be a good idea towards the end

The door closed behind the secretary and Prowl settled carefully onto the visitor's chair in front of the wide desk. The mech on the other side of the desk ignored him entirely, and Prowl held back on a strong desire to point out his host's rudeness only because that would not make this process any easier. Instead he shifted his gaze to the one window in the room and out at the cityscape.

He had been in Iacon less than an orn, arriving in the early evening of the orn before, but he already wished very much he were back in Praxus and not stuck in this crowded city of looming towers. The Praxian Embassy was decorated with art and colours of their home state but it could not hide the utalitarianist architecture, and the stunted excuse for an indoor crystal garden in the entranceway just made him feel worse.

He told himself to relax. His surroundings were not to blame for his current emotional state, it was the tumult of the past few decaorns was to blame; but knowing that and coping with it were entirely different matters.

Two short decaorns ago he had been at his own farewell party. After many decades of service at the civic centre he had resigned from his post, as expected, and his colleagues all wished him well. His sparkmate, Rapidfire, had been at his side - the first and only time he had come in to the office - and he had been content to give up his working life in exchange for the changes to come.

It was all planned, of course. Once the preliminary request to Vector Sigma had been approved, obviously one of them had to stop working and unlike in lower class families where either partner in the relationship might choose the role, his role as caretaker had been destined from before his own activation. Over the vorns he had had various tutors preparing him for this role, and now that the petition was going forward he knew precisely what to do. Except...

He forced fresh air through his intakes, trying to maintain his calm.

By now they should be making their final petition to the priests, generally a formality, and double-checking the specifications on the programming and frame design. Five orns from now he should have had a newly activated sparkling to bring home and care for. Instead, at the last possible moment Rapidfire had received a request to lecture for several decaorns at the Iacon Academy; an offer he had accepted. All of their carefully laid plans had been put on hold - such an honour could not be lightly turned down, or so Prowl was assured - and suddenly they were travelling.

He had not minded retiring from work. Raising two sparklings - one to carry the family line, one to offer as partner to another just as he had been offered to Rapidfire's family - was the core of his purpose. It was what he had been created for. He loved his job, and was good at it, but he would have time enough to start a career again afterwards.

The problem was not what he was supposed to do, but what had disrupted that plan. Rapidfire would be busy here in Iacon but there was no such activity for him. Easy for his sparkmate to say that it was only for three decaorns, he was not the one who would have nothing to occupy himself with. He was accustomed to being busy, and the thought of thirty orns with nothing to occupy himself with was unbearable. Rapidfire, thankfully, had seen reason and had made contact with the Praxian Embassy here in Iacon to see if they could find him some temporary work.

Which is why he was here. He had been met by the ambassador who had been properly polite but had not lingered, and now he waited for the Placements Officer to consider the information before him

He refused to fidget in spite of the uncomfortable chair. Mecha without back protrusions would no doubt find the thick contour foam padding a luxury but it left him perched awkwardly on the edge of the seat with his doorwings splayed in an ungainly fashion to avoid brushing against the malleable surface. Being made to look foolish did nothing to help his case, and he regretted this as a first impression, but since he had already sat down he was not going to stand again or it would look even worse. He did wonder, though, why the Praxian Embassy would have such inappropriate furnishings.

Clearly there were very few Praxian visitors ever to grace this room.

"I did send my resume ahead." he pointed out as the minor official continued to ignore him in favour of his screen. "If there is no work available at the Embassy I would have appreciated being informed in advance so I could make other arrangements."

He had no patience for this waste of his time, he wanted to be busy. Even manual labour was preferable to being bored at home, particularly in this new apartment. He understood that they had had to accept what accommodation the Academy supplied but he very much regretted the cramped living space and lack of a garden.

Primus, he wanted so much to be back home in Praxus.

"We have a job for you, that's not the problem." his host huffed at him rudely. "We had your job lined up just the moment we got your request, but this... _this_... This is highly irregular. _Highly_ irregular. There are proper channels for these things, and yet we can't exactly just ignore it... Well what does it matter? You're only here for a short while; one job's good as another and it would be a better use of your skill set. Here. Your assignment."

A datapad was thrust at him and Prowl rose to take it. The header caught his optic and he frowned.

"I requested duties here with the ambassador..."

"Means nothing if Prime himself wants you. Which he does. Well, his office does, anyway. Same thing in the end. Now get going, I've notified them you're on your way."

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when Jazz finally made it back to the office, almost time for the work shift to end. He handed in the package he had been sent to retrieve, then heard an unfamiliar voice coming from Redmark's office and poked his head around the corner.

Sitting at Redmark's desk was an entirely unfamiliar Praxian. The surface usually sporting scattered datapads was now immaculate and there was a neat pile of outward-going reports that he would have to deliver in the morning, but he barely even noticed them. This mech was gorgeous. His colouration was mostly white with rich purple contrasts that nicely complemented the deep red of his chevron.

"Can I help you?" the mech asked, and Jazz sauntered inside, pleased to find a strong voice accompanying the appealing outward appearance.

"I was about t'ask you th'same thing." he grinned. "Name's Jazz. An' you are...?"

"Ah, the courier." the mech nodded in recognition. "I am Prowl."

"Well, pleasure t'meetcha, Prowl."

He reached out his hand in greeting but Prowl simply looked at him blankly, and then Smokescreen was there knocking his hand down unsubtly as he walked past.

"This is the last of the daily reports for sign-off, sir, but it can wait until the morning - no-one expected you to be this efficient on your first day."

Instead of handing it to him Smokescreen put the pad down on the desk and stepped away, forcing Prowl to pick it up from there. Irritatingly formal, in Jazz's estimation.

"I shall do so, then." Prowl nodded, setting it aside and rising. "I should be leaving."

Jazz took his chance to speak up again.

"We're all headin' out for drinks. Why doncha come?"

"I can't do that."

"Sure ya can. One drink. You won't be out late."

Prowl shook his head, sweeping past him.

"I'm sorry, I can't."

Jazz watched as he transformed and drove away, frowning.

"What's up with that mech?"

"He's high-rank." Smokescreen shrugged. "And probably not the primary. Slagged if I know why he's even here."

"Say what?"

"The ranking families arrange their relationships at the same time as they go to petition for the spark. Based on his frame design I would've said Prowl's high enough to have been primary, but the way he acts? No way."

"Still not followin' ya, Smokey."

"Don't you care about anything if it's not music? I've told you this before. One of the pair gets all the authority - that's how they decide which family line they're representing. Prowl gave up his heritage and adopted his partner's the moment they were mated, and he has to defer in everything else, too. Stupid slagging system. In a job like this he can show as much authority as he likes, but outside it? Forget it. Anyway, come on, the others are already going."

"Yeah, comin'." Jazz told him absently, barely noticing when his friend drove off.

Paired up before activation? Destined to be subservient from before activation? No wonder Smokey had left Praxus first chance he got. Of course it also meant that Prowl was sparkmated, and thus unavailable

Sighing in regret for the chance lost before he even knew it existed, he turned to follow the others.

* * *

Rapidfire had left early to visit Prowl at the Embassy late in the afternoon and was rather upset when he did not find him there. His temper was certainly not improved when he learned that Prowl had been sent to the Prime's administrative office. The only mitigation was that Prowl was already home when he got there.

"I said you could work at the Praxian Embassy, not go knocking door to door for a job!"

"It was the Embassy Office who gave me the assignment." Prowl pointed out, busy tending the tiny potted crystal garden they had brought with them. "And I don't see why you're so upset. It's practically the same as my job back in Praxus..."

" _Former_ job."

Prowl flinched at the harsh reminder and Rapidfire regretted his words immediately. The stress of the application process had gotten to both of them, and this sudden shift to Iacon had been an unwelcome addition even though it was a signal honour. He modulated his tone and wrapped an arm around his partner's waist, pulling him towards him and away from the delicate crystals.

"Don't be like that, Prowlie. We talked about this, remember? If we're going to start a family then you need to stop working."

"You agreed I could continue working until the activation." Prowl reminded him quietly. "Our petition hasn't even been granted yet."

"I know, but when we set the date I didn't know I was going to be asked to be guest lecturer. It's only for a few decaorns, can't you wait that long? Think of it as a vacation."

"I like to be busy."

Rapidfire gave in. It did not matter that much; it truly was only a few decaorns then they would be back in Praxus and undertaking the final negotiations for the petition. And if he had to be working for any foreigner, at least it was for the Prime. Not ideal, but not shameful either.

"Alright." he agreed, smiling when Prowl peered at him uncertainly. "You can keep the job. Just don't get too attached to it, that's all."

"Of course not. So. How was your orn?"

"Fantastic. Why don't we sit down - this might take awhile!"

* * *

Rapidfire continued to enthuse about his first full orn of lectures and the intelligent questions he had

been asked by the local academics, but Prowl found his attention wandering. Not to his own day though that too had been busy, and not so much to their new surroundings, but to the one mech who had made such a strong impression on him: the courier named Jazz.

What was it about him that made him so intriguing? he fretted.

The mech's frame was nondescript giving no hint of his background, though his speech patterns strongly suggested Kaon. His detailing was beautiful, mostly simple black with swathes of white and delicate highlights in red and azure blue. The stubby angled sensor horns on his helm were more commonly a minibot feature but they suited him well, and the visor was an exotic addition. All in all a flamboyant appearance, but in truth it was his smile that had captivated him.

At one point, to his shame, he had even missed Jazz's words while staring at those lips and wondering what it would be like to kiss them. He was still wondering now.

He stopped that line of thought hurriedly, flustered. He had never been unfaithful to Rapidfire, had never even thought of it. It was not that he could not appreciate the aesthetic beauty of others but this was the first time anyone had ever evoked such a visceral response from him. He wanted to kiss Jazz, not as he would to greet a friend and not even as he would in affection for his mate, but passionately.

Physical intimacy was unspeakably vulgar, of course; he knew that. Commoners indulged in the practice, touching with no sense of propriety, but only because they had not been properly tutored. At a much younger and bolder age, shortly after being paired, he and Rapidfire had experimented a bit with touch during their intimacies just out of curiosity, but it had been awkward and embarrassing and they had soon returned with relief to the purity of non-tactile spark merging, sharing only energy fields and emotions.

Around Jazz, though, Prowl was dismayed to find himself wondering what it would feel like to touch that matte plating. And what it would be like to have those expressive hands on his own body...

"Prowl?"

He refocused, mortified.

"My apologies, Fire, my thoughts were elsewhere."

"I could tell." Rapidfire sounded amused. "Your engine is revving. Shall we make it an early night?"

Perhaps that would help, Prowl considered. It had been awhile since they had last shared, just purely due to the preparations for the sparkling and then the sudden request for Rapidfire's expertise here in Iacon. Perhaps it would help to reduce the entirely inappropriate lust claiming him.

He prayed it would, because he had no idea how else to resolve this.

* * *

"You can't have him."

"What?" Jazz roused out of his thoughts, blinking at his brother.

Ricochet sat across the table from him, folding his arms.

"Whoever you're smitten with. It's someone you can't have."

Jazz snorted.

"I ain't 'smitten' wit'anybody. Anyway, why're you up here this early - the place's full up."

"I thought the boss might gimme the rest o'the night off."

"Forget it." Jazz said flatly.

"Aw come on, Jazzy, just one night? It's still my bar to run..."

"Yeah but it's still _my_ credits keepin' ya open. Did you make your lease payment today?"

"Of course! The receipt's in the office. Why don't you trust me?"

"Because sometimes y'lie to me." Jazz pointed out simply, then cocked his head to the side. "I had an interestin' call from an old friend of yours today. Goldbit. He says if I can confirm you've been makin' all your payments on time for the last vorn he'll look at reinstatin' your casino licence. Now why would he call me t'ask that, eh?"

Ricochet had flinched the moment Goldbit's name was mentioned and now smiled uneasily.

"Well he probably wants the profits. We did okay, here..."

Jazz leaned forward, scowling at his wayward brother.

"Listen to me good, Ric. You promised me you weren't gonna gamble again. You promised you wouldn't go anywhere _near_ a bettin' table again. That's why I agreed t'help pull ya outta debt an' get this place kosher again. I catch you talkin' to Goldbit about bringin' tables back in an' I'm outta here an' takin' my credits wit'me."

Ricochet pouted and swore to him that he had no idea what Goldbit was planning, then made an excuse to rush back to the bar. Jazz sighed, leaning back in his chair and contemplating his drink.

The problem was, if Ricochet _did_ get himself in trouble again he would probably help him again, and both of them knew it. They knew each other far too well.

And Ricochet was right on the money when it came to his infatuation with Prowl. His feelings for the visiting Praxian were completely inappropriate. He would never act on them, of course, but he would be just as happy when the temptation left again. In the meantime, though, what to do? Avoid him? That would be awkward. Carry on wishing and hoping, knowing it would never go anywhere?

"Jazz, m'mech, you're pathetic." he muttered in disgust, and rose.

He was not in the mood for company tonight, he might just head home early.

* * *

"You've got to stop doing that, you know." Smokescreen muttered at Jazz as the courier came around the corner.

"Doin' what?" Jazz asked, a little startled to find the mech waiting for him.

"Touching him. Don't tell me you don't see him flinch."

Ah.

"All I did was take the pad he handed me."

"He was going to put it down for you to pick up."

"Sounds like a waste o'effort t'me, I was right there."

Smokescreen continued to grumble at him but Jazz slipped away, changing into his alt mode and heading off towards the Altihexian Consulate.

Prowl did flinch every time Jazz brushed up against him, but more as though he were startled than offended. And he said nothing to stop it - if he did, if he even started to, Jazz would do as he asked. Instead, he almost seemed to be contriving situations where it might happen.

Almost as though he were flirting.

It was not at all serious, of course. Jazz knew when he was outclassed and accepted it, and Prowl was already sparkmated and from what he had heard soon expecting a sparkling to raise: he was not going to put all of that at risk for a dalliance with a commoner, and Jazz's own sense of decency would not have allowed it if the Praxian's prudence slipped.

And yet, there was an undeniable attraction there. From the moment he had first seen Prowl, before he had even known his name, there had been a sense of recognition. A pulse in his spark. Under different circumstances he would not have hesitated to woo him, to seduce him...

Enough. He stopped himself sharply. Prowl might be flirting with him, might even be attracted to him, but he was not free to act on that attraction and Jazz would not force the issue.

They would have their fun for a few more orns, dancing round each other as not quite lovers, yearning to be more than friends, then Prowl would go home to Praxus and life would go on as normal. Simple as that.

* * *

The work was demanding and soothingly similar to that he had done back in Praxus, so Prowl soon found he was enjoying himself immensely. His colleagues were often overly familiar, but they meant no harm and worked hard at their own jobs, and his supervisor was refreshingly exacting in his requirements.

The hardest part of any orn was dealing with Jazz.

The courier spent most of the orn travelling around Iacon, but that meant he might pop up at any moment, suddenly there where he had not been just moments earlier. After the shock of the first orn Prowl had prepared himself and now found he could discipline himself into focusing solely on Jazz's visor and not allowing his gaze to wander. The attraction was still inexplicable but he had decided to simply ignore it. They were to be here for only thirty orns and there were now only twelve remaining.

Rapidfire had been caught up in his own work, usually not returning to the apartment until well into the night and often still charging when Prowl crept out to leave for work. When they did speak, he was effusive about the scholars here and the work they were doing, but the details were less important than the fact that it appeared this had been a good move. Prowl had never seen his partner so enthusiastic about anything. In some ways it was a shame they were not intending to stay for longer, except...

Except that he still hated the tiny apartment with a passion. The long groons there alone in that claustrophobic space before going to recharge were the least pleasant part of his orn. If only there were some way to make them more bearable.

Still pondering that Prowl headed into the administrative building and turned a corner then stopped in confusion. The first thing he saw when he walked through the door was a small figure playing with a simple puzzle on the floor. A sparkling.

He reset his optics but it was still there: there was a sparkling in his office.

"I hope you don't mind, Gelcast couldn't take him today and the medics insist he needs to stay with one of us at all times for the first six decacycles."

"No problem at all." Prowl lied, bemused, moving over to his desk. "Shall we begin with the construction reports? I have them ready for you."

"Oh no rush." Redmark smiled at him. "We never really got a chance to talk when you came in - I was a bit distracted, you understand. How've you been settling in?"

Prowl sank into his chair. Was Redmark not concerned that his attention was split between his work and his sparkling? The infant did not seem at all perturbed by his caretaker's distraction, in fact he seemed perfectly happy occupying himself.

A feeling of dismay washed over him. Was this normal for sparklings? If so, how was he ever going to fill his days?

"I believe my work has been deemed satisfactory." he answered belatedly, deliberately turning away from the disturbing sight and focusing on the other adult.

"So I hear." Redmark agreed warmly. "Underscore has been raving about you ever since you started. He's not easy to please, either. But I meant about the shift to Iacon. A big move for you."

"It's only temporary. Rapidfire's contract at the academy is limited."

"Disruptive, though." Redmark mused. "You left a very good job behind just to come with him, and without anything to come to. You could have stayed at work - as you say, he won't be here long."

"If I have need of another role I'm confident I could find something, however you appear to be mistaken. I had already left..." Prowl began.

"What if it already found you?" Redmark interrupted.

"I beg your pardon? I don't follow."

"Prowl, when I say Underscore is hard to please, I mean it's practically impossible. He doesn't like _anybot_. He only tolerates me. I've never met anyone he actually approves of, until you. And here's the thing: Gelcast's been offered a post in Vos. Oh sure, it's not as prestigious as here, maybe, but it's work he wants to do. He's put off his own career for a long time so I could build my own, but this chance mightn't come again for awhile. Besides, I like the idea of being mentor to my sparkling, not just creator. Can't do that if I'm working full time in a high stress position. My problem was I didn't want to leave the post vacant. But after seeing you here, I think everything'll be just fine."

"But I'm only here temporarily."

"Unless you choose to stay. Prowl, you're _good_ at this job. And your partner'd get a permanent position at the academy no trouble at all - I know they want him. You're already here, so why not stay?"

"I cannot. I'm sorry. It's not an option."

"Well, if you're sure." Redmark accepted it reluctantly. "But think about it, okay? The offer'll stay open, you don't have to make a decision now."

He had disappointed his colleague, he knew, but what was being offered was simply out of the question. For someone like Redmark, working for the Prime would be a great honour even if it were only as an administrative assistant. He could understand that even though it was not at all true for him.

They spent the next few breems going over some of the reports he had been writing, and Prowl found his thoughts drifting again. He did like the mechs here, and he was not pleased to disappoint them. And perhaps they could also help solve one of his problems, if only temporarily.

As Redmark reached for the next pile, Prowl spoke up.

"I cannot take this role you are offering, but perhaps I could at least join you for a drink tonight in gratitude for your consideration."

"Did I hear you say you were comin' drinkin'?" Jazz piped up from the main room, startling him.

Trust him to have heard.

" _If_ I can get Rapidfire's approval." Prowl cautioned. "But I should be glad to if he will allow it."

"Great!" Jazz cheered. "About time we got t'see ya outside o'work. I'll tell everyone. Just leave it t'me."

"Everyone?" Prowl echoed, alarmed.

"Don't worry, I'll talk to him." Redmark assured him, rising. "Jazz'll organise half the city into a party if he's left to it, but he _can_ be talked round into being reasonable. Why don't you get started while I sort that out?"

* * *

The bar was noisy and Prowl hesitated in the entrance, but Jazz grabbed his hand and pulled him into the crowd.

The obscenely intimate gesture caught him entirely off-guard and he found himself torn between enjoying the contact while it lasted and the knowledge that he should be pulling away and leaving right now. But the bar was as busy as the noise level suggested, and within a few steps he found himself trapped in the crowd, jostled about until he could no longer even tell which direction they had come from: there was no chance he could find his way out again, he was not at all sure how Jazz was managing to keep them moving.

He clung to Jazz's hand as a lifeline in the chaos, and just as the claustrophobia seemed about to overwhelm him he was being pulled up a small ramp to a mezzanine level and through two sets of buffer doors. The booths and tables up here were quieter, and the babble from below was muted suggesting some kind of shielding. Such things were expensive and the use of this space would be similarly so.

"I can't afford..." he began anxiously.

"Don't worry, 's on me." Jazz assured him.

"The owner's his brother." Redmark explained as they settled at a corner booth, leaving Jazz to talk to a waiter. "Ricochet always keeps a table for us at this time."

"Remember that time he didn't?" Cliffjumper laughed. "Jazz went ballistic."

"Most of Jazz's wages go into this place." Redmark continued quietly, settling beside Prowl. "Ricochet got deep in debt awhile back and their parents disowned him, but Jazz stood by him and sorted it out."

Prowl was surprised. Jazz had struck him as purely hedonistic, but this suggested another side to the courier. Not to mention the very foreign concept of defying the wishes of your creators by acknowledging an outcast.

"Would such actions not result in him also being outcast?"

Cliffjumper and Redmark looked confused but Smokescreen shook his head, settling beside him at a proper distance.

"The rules here are different. Are you okay? Jazz can let you out the back way if you want to go. I _thought_ he'd be sensible enough to bring you _in_ that way."

"Go?" Cliffjumper asked. "But he's only just got here!"

"Here we go." Jazz carolled, helping one of the waiting staff to set cubes of energon down on the table. "I called ahead an' Ric opened a new batch, special. Drink up, mechs."

Prowl looked at the cube before him. It was an intoxicant, but did not appear to be particularly strong. A single cube should not do him any harm.

"I am here, now." he told Smokescreen. "I will stay for a short while."

The other Praxian looked disappointed, and Prowl abruptly realised that Smokescreen's concern had not been so much for his welfare but for Smokescreen's own comfort: he was probably not enjoying his role as chaperon.

Taking a sip at his cube, and relieved to find it was as mild as he had expected, he watched as Jazz took a gulp of his own then bounded over to a nearby space reserved for dancing.

"He's really hyper tonight." Cliffjumper laughed, rising to join him.

"I wonder why." Smokescreen mused, glancing sidelong at Prowl.

Prowl met his gaze evenly.

"I'm quite sure I have no idea." he said firmly.

Regardless of his mixed feelings for the courier, it was not Smokescreen's place to disapprove, and he would remain here for long enough for the lesser-status Praxian to realise that. On the other hand he knew full well that he should not tempt fate. He would have this one cube and then leave. Based on the previous decaorns, Rapidfire would not be home for several groons yet, so he had plenty of time.

And in the meantime, he had the perfect excuse to simply stare at Jazz and try yet again to figure out why he was so strongly attracted to the mercurial mech.

* * *

Redmark and Cliffjumper had left while Jazz was dancing, and Prowl was still sipping at his first cube.

"You sure you don't want a refill?" Jazz asked, dropping onto the bench beside him.

"One is quite enough. I should be heading home soon."

"I'll drive you there - no need to go alone."

" _We'll_ drive you there." Smokescreen corrected, flashing him a quick glare before smiling soothingly at Prowl. "Jazz will persist so there's no point in arguing, but I can at least see you home with your honour intact."

"Hey!" Jazz cried, hurt. "Just what do you think I am? I never go where I ain't wanted."

"Rapidfire would appreciate that." Prowl nodded to Smokescreen. "I really should have spoken to him before coming out."

"You tried callin' all day, an' even made us late goin' there t'tell him." Jazz pointed out, still aggrieved. "Not your fault the receptionist wouldn't take a message. But honestly, Prowl, I wouldn't jump ya. Not that I wouldn't _want_ to, but you're taken."

He saw Smokescreen bury his face in his hands at that last statement but Prowl's expression remained neutral.

"It's not about what you _would_ do so much as what you _may_ do." Prowl corrected him. "Whether or not I personally trust you, I should always have a Praxian chaperon with me as witness that nothing happened. If Smokescreen had been unable to come tonight I would most certainly have not been able to join you here. And even with him here, I'm far from sure that Rapidfire would have approved. This place is not quite what I had imagined." he finished with a sigh, looking about.

Jazz folded his arms crossly.

"Y'know, I really don't like the sound o'this guy. You should leave him, you deserve better."

Smokescreen choked at that statement but Prowl looked quizzical.

"Leave him? That's impossible."

"Why? Because he's threatenin' ya? I'd set him straight - just point me at him."

"You have been watching too many holodramas." Prowl shook his head wryly. "Rapidfire does not mistreat me; I do not need rescuing from an evil tyrant. He loves me. If he were being violent I could go to the magistrate and seek reparation but there's no need for that. He would never harm me, we've known each other all our lives."

"Just because he ain't leavin' dents doesn't mean he ain't hurtin' ya." Jazz persisted. "What about what you wanna do? You like this work, an' you're good at it. Why can't you keep doin' it?"

Prowl's gaze flicked away, but not quite quickly enough to hide the shadow crossing his face.

"Perhaps I will, once our sparklings are sparkmated."

"That's centuries away!"

Prowl looked back at him, his face composed and his words calm.

"And until then it is my role to act as mentor. We do not have these _schools_ you have in Iacon, where sparklings are left by the dozen in the care of a single adult. It is the responsibility of the family to raise their next generation. I'm looking forward to it."

Jazz wanted to scowl. That last statement was a lie, he was sure of it. But Smokescreen was frantically comming him to leave it alone, and he did not want to end the night on a sour note so he simply smiled and suggested that they finish up their drinks.

* * *

Rapidfire heard the soft chime of the doorcode being entered and strode through to the entryway in time to see Prowl step inside.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

Behind Prowl a black and white commoner began to try to push through but was pulled away by someone else with a Praxian accent.

Prowl closed the door.

"You're home early tonight."

"So you admit you've done this before?" Rapidfire seethed.

"No. Fire, it's not like that..."

"Who were those mechs with you? That black and white one was touching you!"

"He means no harm, he's just tactile."

"Who is he?"

"He's a friend. Someone I work with, a courier. His name is Jazz."

"You don't need friends here. We're going home in a decaorn, can't you be just a _little_ more patient?"

"I have done nothing wrong. We went to a bar for a drink..."

"A bar? Primus! Don't you care at all for my reputation?"

"I had a chaperon the entire time. Honestly, Fire, I did nothing unseemly. I only had one drink."

"You went to a _bar_. That alone is questionable."

Prowl's doorwings trembled and Rapidfire could not yet tell if that was from shame or from fury. For Prowl's sake it had better be the former.

"You have never denied me social contact with my work colleagues. Why should I think it any different here?"

"Because it _is_ different here. And because you were trying to keep it secret. If I hadn't already been home would you even have told me?"

"Of course!"

"And why didn't you ask? If it was innocent you could have asked first! You never asked me this morning."

"It wasn't planned."

"Then you should have said no."

"I tried to contact..."

"No. I've heard enough. You are confined to the apartment from now on."

Prowl swallowed whatever protest he had been about to make and bowed his head.

"Of course. I'm sorry. From now on I will return home directly from work..."

"No! No more work. You will stay here until we are ready to return to Praxus. I'll resign on your behalf tomorrow. You will stay here and you will have no more contact with this _Jazz_. Clearly all of this was a mistake, just like I thought at the beginning. I should have trusted my instincts."

* * *

"See what you've done?" Smokescreen intoned dourly as Jazz walked in. "I tried to warn you."

"What? Hey, where's Prowl?"

"He quit." Redmark frowned, typing awkwardly with one hand while supporting a sleepy sparkling against his chest with the other.

"Quit?" Jazz echoed blankly. "But why? He loved the work. He was good at it. I thought you wanted him to stay?"

"I did." Redmark grunted sourly. "And I thought he was interested, too."

"Maybe he was." Smokescreen shrugged. "That's not the point. It's not his choice."

"You said that before, but come on." Jazz frowned at him. "Why would his partner say no? Most mechs'd do anythin' to work for the Prime."

"They don't see it like that." Smokescreen persisted. "Anyway, even if he might've talked him round, you spoiled it all by getting him to come out last night. I told you it was a bad idea."

"But he loved it." Jazz protested. "And it was only one drink, he didn't even get tipsy!"

Smokescreen shook his head, giving up. He had tried to explain but Jazz was never going to understand. The concepts were too foreign.

Yes, Prowl had enjoyed the conversation and company last night. The poor mech was isolated here in Iacon; he must be painfully lonely away from the approved company of his friends and family in Praxus. From what Smokescreen had heard they had not even brought any servants with them, so Prowl would be all alone in that apartment when his sparkmate was not there.

But it was only a temporary state. They would be back home in a few more decaorns. They would quite likely never return here and this would just be an uncomfortable blip in their memories, nothing more.

The problem was that Jazz had gotten too involved. He was utterly besotted with Prowl: anyone who cared to look could see it. He would not do anything unseemly by Iaconian standards, but he had done almost nothing correctly by the rules of Praxian society. And it certainly did not help that Prowl was not doing much to dissuade him.

In many ways it was for the best that Prowl would not be coming back to work. He had a whole lieftime of acting correctly within a stifling role ahead of him, and if he had managed it this long then it was simply cruel to be in a position where he could see other ways of living. His infatuation with Jazz would pass and he would probably spend the rest of his life quite happily in Praxus. The less contact the two of them had, the quicker each would realise how foolish they had been.

Well, Prowl would. Jazz, of course, was still Jazz.

* * *

Jazz drove up the spiral ramp, fuming but trying to keep hold of his temper. It would only make things worse if he let his anger show, and he knew Smokescreen would argue that he was already making it worse just by coming but he would be slagged if he let things go like this when it was all his fault.

He had been ringing Prowl's home number for the past three orns with no response. A couple of times the line had been busy so he knew someone was home, but no-one ever answered his calls.

Reaching the right level he paused to compose himself, then walked to the apartment door and activated the chime. The door opened, revealing Rapidfire, a mech who Jazz had barely so much as glimpsed up until now but who he already despised with a passion.

"Yes? Who are you?"

Jazz pasted on his best polite smile, not reacting to the rudeness.

"Please, sir, may I come in? I need to speak with you. I'm a workmate of your sparkmate's."

Rapidfire hissed, his doorwings flaring threateningly.

"You are Jazz." he guessed.

"Yes sir, and I need to apologise. I was the one who..."

"You are not welcome here. Please leave."

The angry Praxian tried to shut the door but Jazz darted forward, blocking the way.

"Please. Look, it's my fault he did the wrong thing. But you've gotta let him come back to work. He was good at it, and we really need him."

"You'll just have to find someone else. Now leave. I have called the Enforcers and I will lay charges for trespass if you do not go immediately."

"Don'tcha get it, mech?" Jazz demanded, giving up on the formal speech patterns he had been practicing. "He was workin' for th' _Prime_. Not just anyone gets t'do that. You don't even need t'go back to Praxus anymore either, he's been offered a permanent job! Don't y'know how rare that is?"

A soft protest caught his attention and he spotted a horrified-looking Prowl at the end of the hall. Apparently he had never told his partner of the job offer, and so Jazz had just made everything worse.

"Get out." Rapidfire hissed, shoving him backwards.

Jazz stumbled, caught by surprise, and before he could recover the door had closed and locked. In the sudden silence he could hear the roar of fast-moving engines on the ramp and knew that he was out of time.

Resigned, he walked to the top of the ramp and sat down to wait for the Enforcers. No point running when they knew who he was and could track him down, but the arrest was not what troubled him most. That was the image which had all but etched itself on his spark, the resignation on Prowl's face as the door had closed.

* * *

"Well this is new." Ricochet greeted him cheerfully. "I'm usually on _that_ side of the bars. It's kinda different from this side."

"Thanks for comin' Ric." Jazz sighed tiredly. "You've paid the bail?"

"Yup. Just waitin' for the sergeant to come let you out."

It disturbed him how quiet his brother was. Jazz had never been arrested before, not once. He was the good one of the family: always followed the rules, always behaved, always did things right. When the Enforcers had called Ricochet's first reaction had been to think of the dozen or so things they might want him for, then to wonder if it was a joke when they explained that Jazz had been detained for trespassing and needed him to come and bail him out.

It was no joke. Here he was on the wrong side of the bars.

"It was that Praxian, wasn't it?" he guessed. "The one you brought in the other night. What happened, his mate find out you've been chattin' him up?"

"I ain't really feelin' like talkin' about this right now, Ric, okay?"

"You didn't knock him up, did ya?" Ricochet checked.

Jazz glared at him.

"I never touched him, okay?"

Ricochet grinned.

"So it _was_ him you've been moonin' over. I thought so. He's pretty, I'll give ya that."

"He's a pit damned slave, is what he is." Jazz growled. "But he seems t'like it that way, so who'm I t'spoil it for him?"

"I thought slavery was illegal in Praxus?"

"Me too." Jazz sighed, then rose as the sergeant approached. "Forget it. It ain't like I'm gonna see him again anyway. Lets just go home an' get drunk. The sooner, the better."

"Just don't do it in public or you'll be straight back in here." the Enforcer warned.

"I'll see him home." Ricochet assured him, feeling very peculiar to be in the role of being the sensible one. "Come on, Jazz, time to go."

* * *

 _Twelve decaorns later..._

Jazz dragged himself off the berth, cursing, and stumbled to the door. It was the middle of the night, who would be visiting at such a ridiculous time? Opening the door he saw his brother and groaned.

"Primus, Ric, what've you done now?"

"Not me this time, bro. Got someone here who was looking for you."

He stepped aside to reveal someone standing behind him. An exhausted, dirt-streaked and dented Praxian.

"Prowl!"

The mech was swaying unsteadily, optics flickering from lack of charge.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't think where else to go."

"Ric, help me get him inside, he's gonna keel over in a click. How'd he end up with you?"

"He turned up at the bar, askin' for you."

"Then why didn't you just keep him there an' call me rather'n draggin' him halfway across the city in this state?" Jazz demanded, guiding Prowl gently into the lounge and down onto the couch.

"I wanted to, but he insisted on comin' to you." Ricochet explained, then cocked his head to the side. "This is the one who got you sent to jail, right?"

"His partner." Jazz answered absently. "Prowl, what happened? How did you get here, I thought you were back in Praxus?"

Prowl just shook his head faintly. He was trembling, and Jazz grabbed a rug to wrap around him.

"Ric, go grab him some energon will ya? An' heat it up. An' call for a medic."

Ricochet gave a low whistle.

"Getting a callout this late'll be expensive..."

"Just do it, will ya?"

"Okay, okay, I'm goin'."

Prowl lifted his head a little, looking alarmed.

"I can't... I don't have any funds, I can't afford..."

"Shh." Jazz hushed him. "Don't worry about that now, we'll figure it out later."

"I couldn't think where else to go." Prowl repeated his earlier statement.

"Why? What happened?"

A couple of tears slipped down Prowl's cheeks but there was no answer, so Jazz just pulled him close and held him.

* * *

The medic told him nothing he did not already know: he was underenergised and exhausted but not physically damaged beyond what self-healing could resolve if he just got some fuel and rest. There were also certain other issues that baffled the medic, but Prowl quietly assured him that he was aware of them and that those did not repair. Unhappy, the medic had settled for giving him some richly nutritional low grade and stood over him until he drank all of it, in spite of Prowl's insistence that he would rather not eat right now.

He felt guilty about wasting the medic's time, but Jazz refused to accept his apologies and insisted he sit quietly while he heated some better quality low-grade which would be more appropriate for his current state.

Jazz's brother Ricochet had left at the same time as the medic, so for awhile Prowl sat in the quiet of the empty living room, listening to the homely sounds from the kitchen, enjoying the peace but fearing the coming moment when Jazz returned to him and he would have to explain.

But how to explain what had happened to someone who did not understand even basic concepts of the life Prowl had lived?

This was all a mistake, he should never have come. All that this would accomplish was making Jazz feel worse about something that was not his fault. He should just leave, but he was so tired and now that he was here he at least owed Jazz an explanation, so he would have to try.

* * *

"We went back to Praxus." Prowl reported dully, staring into the cube of energon that he had not yet touched to his lips. "Everything seemed normal for the first few orns, and it was good to be home. But then the priests told us our petition for a sparkling had been denied because I was..." his voice trembled but he forced the words out, "...I was unfit to raise him."

"Unfit?"

"There was someone watching us while we were here. They saw me go to the bar without Rapidfire's permission..."

"That slagger..." Jazz hissed and Prowl looked up anxiously.

"No, it wasn't his fault. Fire tried to defend me. He pointed out that he hadn't said I couldn't go, and that I did call but that I could not get through to him and that I did have a chaperon. But that only made it worse. Smokescreen..." He shook his head miserably. "They're right, I should have been suspicious. I should have realised something was wrong, he never mentioned a partner so I should have guessed..."

"Guessed what? Realised what?"

"He's an outcast. I should never have even acknowledged him, let alone trusted him to guard my honour. It would have been better for me if he had not been there at all. And then there was you. They said I had been accepting your advances..."

"I never touched ya!"

"You wanted to. That much was obvious. And I..."

He broke off and Jazz waited but he seemed to be lost in thought so after a moment Jazz prompted him. What he had heard so far did not explain Prowl's arrival here.

"Okay, so they said no to the sparkling this time. Then what happened?"

Prowl sighed, setting the cube aside and hugging himself tightly.

"It is a deep dishonour to have a petition rejected. A commoner might be refused and have some hope of recovering, but not a High Family. There was only one solution: they dissolved our relationship and declared me dead."

Jazz half-rose in alarm.

"They're gonna _execute_ you!"

Prowl shook his head.

"Calm yourself, Jazz. None of them are going to harm me. No Praxian, at least. To them I am already dead, and cannot be hurt any further. Rapidfire will mourn me for one vorn while his family arrange a new partner for him, then he will go on. I no longer exist for him, I am dead."

Jazz shook his head, sinking back into his chair. Praxian traditions were so alien he could not even begin to understand them.

"Alright." he said slowly. "So he's holdin' your memorial an' all that. What about you, what're you supposed t'do?"

"I am to consider the faults that brought me to this circumstance, and then when I can fully appreciate what I have done I am to take my own life in penance." Prowl said quietly.

Jazz stared at him, unable to take that in.

"You... You're joking, right?"

One of Prowl's hands rose, trembling, to his chevron which Jazz now saw had been carefully split down the length of each prong. It had healed over but had left a scar, a thin but obvious line if you were looking for it.

"It's my only option. This marks me for everyone to see. Everyone who sees me knows of my shame, if not the details of my crime."

It must have been excruciatingly painful. Jazz had had Praxian lovers before and their chevrons were always exceptionally sensitive. The thought of what someone had done to cause those scars made Jazz want to scream on Prowl's behalf, yet Prowl seemed more embarrassed and ashamed of the scars than upset about the fact that it had been done at all. Such a backwards way of thinking.

"Smokey doesn't have that."

"Smokescreen was a commoner and merely exiled. It is not the same."

There was a brief uncomfortable silence, then Jazz asked the question that had been bothering him since Prowl's arrival.

"Why did you come to me?"

Prowl looked down, clearly embarrassed.

"I was not ready to die and could think of no other option."

"You said that last night. What did you mean? You could've gone to Redmark, he woulda helped ya. Or Cliffjumper, or even Smokey."

"Redmark told me about your brother, about how he was disowned by your family but how you continued to have contact with him and even to help him. I know no-one else who would do such a thing."

"Aw come on..."

"No." Prowl insisted, looking up. "I do not know of one other. Not one. My friends - my former friends - will all abide by the ruling. They do not see or hear me. It would shame them to do so and they will not accept that shame for my poor behaviour. Truly I do not understand why you will, but it was all I could think of. If not for you I would likely have taken the honourable path already and it shames me further to think I have avoided doing so."

"Wait a click." Jazz interrupted. "If no-one'll talk to you or help you and you've got no creds and no way of workin' how're you s'posed to survive while you're being all guilty?"

"The priests can speak with the dead." Prowl explained. "They provide shelter and minimal rations. There is no work, no distraction from contemplation of your guilt: the dead have no need of mortal activity. And when it is time, they will supply the method you request. Most choose poisoned fuel, though it is more honourable simply to starve through to deactivation. That is what my family expected of me. I have shamed them deeply by leaving."

Strangely, those last two statements seemed to distress Prowl far more than any of the previous recitation, and Jazz shifted onto the couch to hug him close.

"How long did you put up with it?"

Prowl stiffened at the move, then leaned hesitantly into his embrace.

"Not long. Long enough that they believed I had submitted to the inevitable. Then I left."

Jazz considered the state Prowl had arrived in, and to a great extent was still in, and realised the truth.

"You drove the whole way?"

"Walked, actually." Prowl admitted wearily. "The dead are not permitted to use their alt mode, to discourage thoughts of escape I imagine, so the transformation cog is disabled. I doubt many have ever attempted to flee on pede, particularly since there is usually nowhere to flee towards."

"You _walked_ here? From _Praxus_! Primus below, mech, no wonder you're exhausted!"

"It was a long way." Prowl murmured.

Jazz considered him critically, then shook his head.

"You're not gonna drink that now, are ya?"

"It does not appeal." Prowl confessed softly.

"Right. Up you get, then."

Prowl did so stiffly, his doorwings drooping.

"Of course. Now you understand... I'll go..."

"Like frag you will." Jazz interrupted. "Come on, you need some proper charge an' you ain't gonna get that out here. I've only got the one berth, but you're welcome to it."

Prowl's head jerked up in startlement.

"But then where will you charge tonight?"

"On the couch." Jazz said firmly. "I ain't gonna take advantage, your honour's safe."

Prowl continued to stare at him silently, and Jazz prodded him onwards until they were standing beside the berth.

"Down you go." he coaxed him, fishing out the charging cable from where it had fallen down the far side.

Prowl complied, but then caught his wrist as he tried to hand over the cable.

"The dead have no honour to guard. Would you... would you lie with me? I would very much appreciate the company after so long of everyone avoiding me."

Quite apart from the fact that he wanted to stay, he knew he could never have denied that plaintive request.

"Of course. Y'don't have t'be alone anymore. I'm here."

* * *

Waking to find a warm body behind him, gentle arms loosely encircling him, was more of a relief than he could bear and when Jazz murmured a soft greeting to him he simply burst out keening. Jazz did not seem surprised or offended, simply pulling him closer and stroking his back gently and murmuring softly to him until he drifted back into recharge.

The second time his host coaxed him up and into the washracks to remove the ingrained grime of his long travels. It could have been intimate, he supposed, but he was feeling so numb and Jazz was simply attentive and eventually it was over. In spite of the fact that he had contributed little to the effort it once again left him enervated and he allowed Jazz to guide him back to the berth for yet another nap.

The third time he found himself alone and panicked thinking he had been abandoned, but Jazz was simply preparing a meal in the kitchen. It was late afternoon, though of which orn Prowl was not sure. He had lost track of time on his journey: the dead did not need to know, of course, thus his chronometer had been stopped at the moment of his "death".

He had not felt hungry, the smell of the warmed energon making him queasy, but Jazz was watching attentively, clearly wanting to help, so he had dutifully sipped at the low-grade that the medic had provided. Thus far it had not returned on him. Now they sat on a bench on Jazz's balcony, looking out at the nearby buildings as the orn passed towards evening. They had been sitting in silence for a long while, but a question had been bothering him and he finally found he simply needed to ask.

"What are we, Jazz?"

"What do you mean?"

"You and I, what are we to each other? You're not my mate, not even my lover, but you're doing so much for me."

"We're friends. I'm your friend."

"You're more than that, though. I have no other friends who would do what you've done for me."

"Then you have no other real friends." Jazz told him stoutly. "A real friend sticks by you, no matter what."

"No matter what." Prowl echoed helplessly.

It was such a foreign concept.

"It should go both ways, though." he considered after a moment. "You are doing so much for me, yet I do nothing for you. By that measure I do not make a very good friend."

Jazz rubbed his arm comfortingly.

"Don't be so hard on y'self. I ain't the one who just lost everything. It's easy for me t'be generous."

Prowl pulled away, rising to walk to the edge of the balcony, and Jazz followed him, placing a gentle hand on his back.

"Prowl? It's okay, truly. You'll pay me back later, it'll work out."

Prowl offlined his optics.

"I wish I had known you in another life, Jazz." he murmured.

"Another life?"

"I would have chosen to be with you, if it had been my choice."

Jazz shifted his weight.

"Well. Didn't expect _that_." he muttered to himself before raising his voice again. "Far as _I_ can see, you have that choice now. Not that I'm tryin' t'rush ya, but I gotta say the idea appeals to me."

Prowl shook his head sadly, staring down at the ground far below.

"I cannot choose anything. I am dead."

"Y'look pretty alive t'me."

"But officially dead." Prowl corrected him. "I cannot work, or seek official assistance, or formalise any relationship because there are no records of my continued existence. The mech that I was is dead, and the Praxian authorities will confirm that in response to any enquiry." He shivered. "I have little desire to be returned to the priests if I am discovered here. And I will be discovered if I stay for long."

"But you came to me..."

"And that was wrong, I should not have come. I wanted to see you again, one last time before I did what I should, but I didn't think it through. It was a foolish thing to have done. Better not to have involved you at all - I'll go."

"No!" Jazz protested, grabbing him and holding him still. "No, you're stayin' right here. Where would you go, you've just finished tellin' me you've got no-one else who'll help."

"Who can help the dead?" Prowl shrugged, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jazz. What I did was wrong. All I've done is upset you. It would have been easier for you if I had accepted my fate earlier."

"Now you listen to me." Jazz said roughly, his optics blazing. "I don't ever wanna hear ya say stuff like that. You did the right thing, comin' for help. I'm _glad_ y'did. We'll find a way t'set this right. You say the priests can talk to the dead? Well so can the Prime, an' he outranks'em. The legends say a Prime can bring a mech back t'life before he returns to th'Matrix - Sentinel can save you."

Faint hope stirred in Prowl again. Would it be possible to stay here? To stay with Jazz?

"I would like that." he conceded softly.

The joy that bloomed across Jazz's face suggested that he had said the right thing, but then the other mech was coaxing him back inside for more rest and he went without protest.

Come what may, he would have at least one more night of Jazz's company. And for Jazz's sake he would make an effort to believe this plan might actually work.

* * *

Sentinel shook his head solemnly as he returned to the office.

"Well?" Jazz asked anxiously.

"The situation is as serious as I had feared. Prowl was tried under Praxian law and his sentence stands. They have demanded that he be handed over to the Praxian ambassador for immediate return to Praxus."

Jazz felt like he had been slapped and sank down into his chair in shock. He had been so sure Prime could fix this.

"It's alright." Prowl tried to console him. "You tried and that means a great deal to me, but it's how I expected. I will return quietly."

"No!" Jazz protested. "No, you're not goin'. You're not. We'll run, we'll find a shuttle, head out to one of the stations, they won't find you, I know places..."

"What about your brother? He's depending on you."

"Ric'll manage, I ain't leavin' ya. I ain't lettin' this happen. You're not goin' back. You're not. You're not."

He knew he was babbling but he could not stop. The horror of it was sinking in. Prowl had come looking for help but was now left with nothing. Now the authorities knew where he was they would come after him. Before they had been willing to let him wander and disappear, but now that they knew he was rejecting his fate they would make sure he made it home again.

Prowl reached down and pulled him up into an embrace, the first time he had ever initiated any physical contact to Jazz's knowledge.

"It's alright." Prowl murmured into his audial. "I accept this. It's alright. It's how it should be."

"It's _not_ alright. You should be with me. I love you."

"You barely know me."

"It doesn't matter. It's true. Stay with me. Please, please don't do this. Please stay with me."

"I can't." Prowl squeezed him tightly for a moment, then pushed him to armslength and raised a hand to wipe his cheek. "All I've done is hurt you. I'm sorry. You deserved better."

"I don't want better, I want _you_."

"And I would have you but the choices were made for us before my activation. You have to let me go, Jazz. It is how it must be."

Another caress to the other cheek, smoothing away the tears.

"I pray you find someone else to love, my love. Someone who can stay with you. Primus bless you, Jazz, you deserve what happiness you can find."

Jazz wanted to beg him again to stay but the words would not come, and then Prowl was turning away and bowing to Sentinel.

"I will go without protest, sir. I thank you for your attempt to help."

The two exchanged a few short statements then Sentinel was guiding him out of the room. Jazz sank to the floor where he had been standing, not caring about where he was nor how this looked to any observer and broke down in grief.

* * *

Sometime later, much later, he pushed himself wearily upright.

No-one had interrupted him. He had cried until he purged and he felt a dim flicker of satisfaction at the thought that he had gotten a tiny measure of revenge on Prime for failing him, but mostly he just felt ill. Prowl had come to him for help, as someone he felt he could trust, and he had been unable to do anything.

The gentle tugging he had felt from his spark when he first saw Prowl had grown, and those two nights of holding him in his berth had solidified his feelings. It did not matter that they had never been lovers, Jazz knew Primus had intended for them to be together. He felt it. And clearly, given the effort Prowl had made to seek him out, he did too.

But now that potential future had been so cruelly snatched away.

Sickened, he stumbled to the door. He could not be here any longer. Could not work here anymore. Could barely even consider remaining in Iacon. Ricochet would either have to travel with him to wherever he went or learn to cope on his own; the memories in this place, scant as they were, were too painful to bear.

A few mecha saw him as he numbly navigated the familiar corridors, some calling his name, but he ignored them all. He just wanted to be gone. But when he reached the door, two large forms blocked his path.

"I'm sorry, Jazz, but Prime has requested that you stay on site until he summons you." Ironhide apologised.

"I've already seen him." Jazz said thickly.

"We haven't been told." Inferno shook his head. "You'll have to wait until we get an update."

Jazz had no energy to argue and let them guide him into a waiting room. Tolerating this a little longer was nothing compared to Prowl's sacrifice, which he had accepted so gracefully.

As it turned out, he did not have to wait long at all. Less than a groon after being ushered in, an aide came to retrieve him and guide him to where Prime was waiting. Not his office, but the chapel wing where Prime blessed the newly activated and the soon to pass.

Jazz began to tremble as he recognised their destination. Was he going to get to say a final goodbye? Why the big delay? Had they helped Prowl in some way to speed the process? Sentinel met them in the corridor and the aide left with a respectful bow.

"Jazz..."

"He's dead, isn't he?" he asked woodenly.

Sentinel held his gaze for a long moment before responding.

"I asked Prowl what he would be willing to give up in order to stay with you. He told me he would give up everything, if only he had something to give. As it happens, he did."

A Praxian marked in black and white stepped hesitantly out into the corridor.

"Jazz?"

The form was not exactly as it should have been, the curves were subtly different and the chevron was not scarred, and yet there was no mistaking him.

"Prowl!" he cried, dashing over to him and hugging him close.

The arms that wrapped just as tightly around him confirmed his guess even as Prime denied it.

"No." Sentinel shook his head solemnly, watching them. "Prowl's frame has been sent to the Praxian embassy for return to Praxus. Unfortunately he died before he could leave here. This is Echo, a newly activated Iaconian."

"They won't be fooled by that." Jazz fretted. "You're still in danger."

"They might guess," Prowl... Echo?... agreed, "but they cannot apply Praxian law to me. Officially Prowl is dead, and Echo is Iaconian. Two separate mechs."

"Then you can stay?"

"I can stay."

Overwhelmed, Jazz pulled him even closer and kissed him passionately, something he had wanted to do since first seeing him. Judging by his lover-to-be's response he suspected that the feeling had been mutual from the start.

"Ahem." Sentinel interrupted gently after a moment.

They broke off and Jazz continued to hold him close, determined not to let go again.

"Sir... thank you, I never... I thought..."

"I have done what can be done, but there is still a price to pay. Echo is officially only a few groons old. Iaconian law demands that he be allowed time to mature before choosing a mate. You will both have to wait if you want to keep this secret."

"That's all?" Jazz choked on the need to laugh. "I can wait. Primus, I'd wait for a millennium if I had to!"

"A century ought to be sufficient for propriety." Echo murmured, tucking his head down against Jazz's shoulder. "I will miss you fiercely, my Jazz, but at least we will have the chance."

"More than that." Sentinel suggested. "Since it would be wise to limit the number of mecha who know the truth, I would recommend that Jazz act as your mentor, Echo. If the two of you are amenable to that arrangement?"

Jazz gave a low whistle.

"You're really testing our restraint, Prime."

"I trust you have incentive enough to hold to it?"

Jazz gave an uncertain laugh.

"Stuck my pede in it, sayin' it'd be easy, huh? Yeah. Yeah, we can manage. Least, I can. Pr...uh, Echo?"

"I have been granted a life I never thought I would have. I can willingly pay whatever price is needed if it means I can stay with you."

"Then I have only one final request before you take your new sparkling home." Sentinel intoned.

"Sir?"

Sentinel smiled broadly.

"When he _is_ of age, I would like to be invited to the sparkmating ceremony."

Jazz grinned back.

"That we can arrange. No trouble at all."

* * *

 _Epilogue_

Black on white, white on black, the happy couple complemented each other perfectly as they stepped out into the courtyard to greet the curious crowd.

If anyone thought it a little peculiar that Echo was taking his own mentor as his mate no-one said so; there were plenty of other details which occasioned far more comment.

The ceremony was held at Ricochet's bar, closed for the orn except to a very small list of invited guests. That was unheard of. The ceremonies were always conducted either at a temple for the highly devout, or in a public space for the more secular-minded.

Secondly, no priest or judiciary was invited to officiate, it was done by Sentinel Prime himself. Prime rarely acceded to such requests, given his busy schedule, yet this one was booked into his appointment diary many vorns in advance. A few of the neighbours recalled that Jazz had once worked for the Prime but that had been a long time ago and was unlikely to be the reason for the Prime's benevolence.

Thirdly, Jazz's creators had come to witness the ceremony and had spoken to their other creation for the first time in centuries. Ricochet's legal status as part of the family had been reinstated and he had widely announced that he would be expanding the bar to include a new floor for musical performances.

Lastly, and most curious of all, the rumour that there had been traditional Praxian music playing during the ceremony.

Echo had a Praxian frame, true, but Jazz had taken him on within groons of his activation and had raised him in Iacon. Why would either of them want to acknowledge traditions that neither of them followed?

Whatever the reasons behind the mysteries, they certainly seemed content.

* * *

"You didn't mind that the ceremony was private, did you?" Echo murmured as they stepped back into the privacy of the still-closed bar. "I had no idea that it would make everyone so curious."

Jazz tightened his grip around his waist, tugging him closer to kiss his cheek.

"They'll get over it. An' I thought it was sweet, you usin' your real name for the ceremony."

"Lying to the authorities is one thing; lying to Primus is something else: I would not have felt our union was properly sanctioned if I had not done this correctly."

"Y'don't gotta explain it t'me anymore, I get it."

"You two sure you're really ready for this?" Ricochet interrupted, grinning at them. "All those long vorns of celibacy - you sure you remember what you're doin'?"

"I'm sure we'll manage just fine, thank you." Echo assured him drily. "I thought you were supposed to be spending the orn with your creators?"

"Just locking up, don't want anyone to sneak in an' rob the place while you two are too busy to care. Right, I'm off. Have fun!"

"We will." Jazz called back.

Echo shook his head, frowning.

"Your brother..." he began.

"Your brother too, now." Jazz pointed out, entwining Echo's fingers with his. "You're part o'the family."

Echo's expression softened.

"Of course, I had not thought of that." he murmured, then frowned. " _Our_ brother, then, is far too cheeky."

Jazz laughed.

"That he is."

The sound of the main door sealing shut and the lock activating could be heard through the empty bar.

"So, my sparkmate, shall we go upstairs?"

Jazz smiled.

"Lead the way."

* * *

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: and this is where it has to end, or else go outside prompt. **But** if you want a little more of what's in store for these two, there _are_ some shorter stories linked to the series ^_^


End file.
